Saturday, April 25, 2015

In Peace Corps Zambia lingo, we were “bush rats,”
content to stay in our remote village for weeks at a time, and only leaving for
food supply runs and periodic vacations.Although our time was not without struggles, we learned and grew from
those experiences.On our last day in
the village in March 2011, we lugged several suitcases containing two years of
our life onto the porch in preparation for the Peace Corps Land Cruiser’s
arrival.Then the village headman,
counterparts, teachers, students, farming cooperative members, friends and
neighbors trickled in to sit vigil with us in the front yard as we waited.I don’t remember the words of our last
conversations because we had been slowly saying goodbye for weeks, only a tone
of finality and sadness.There are
snapshots in my mind: our village headman, a former Independence freedom fighter
now wrinkled and greying, folded into a forest green canvas chair with a look
of solemnity on his face.Wilo anxiously
pacing by our belongings so she would not be left behind, worry constricting
her pumpkin-colored eyes.Our host
family’s younger daughters, usually spunky and talkative, sitting quietly in
the shade of the mango tree.Our
counterpart standing next to our tall host father, talking animatedly with his
hands.After some hours, we heard the
Land Cruiser’s engine as it pulled off the road onto the long dirt footpath
leading to our house.The sound of the
deep engine was what made it become real, and we began exchanging handshakes,
hugs and tears with dear friends that we were leaving behind.As we pulled away in the Land Cruiser, my
vision was blurred from unshed tears swimming in my eyes, and a part of my
heart stayed behind.

Earlier this month, we
were fortunate enough to be able to return to our village for a visit, the
first time we’ve been back in four years.The journey from Malawi’s Central Region to Zambia’s Northern Province,
though geographically very close, took three and a half full days of bus rides
and hitchhiking in private cars because undeveloped infrastructure meant we had
to make a “V”, rather than a straight line, to reach our destination.During this time, we were able to observe how
much Zambia had developed in such a short time.The main roads were in excellent condition, an improvement from the
narrow roads we remember with deep craters.Petrol stations and fast food stores had sprung up everywhere.Kasama, once a forgotten back-woods
provincial capital, now had more vehicles than the roads could handle.Our friends, who moved back to Kasama last
year, joked that rather than the chorus of “how are you’s” from the local children,
they were now greeting in Mandarin.

Our counterpart Allan
had told people in the village that we were returning for a visit, but it
turned out to be a surprise anyways because no one had believed him.Our Peace Corps predecessor, as well as Peace
Corps volunteers in other nearby villages, had left and never returned, so
everyone thought Allan was telling stories.When we arrived the first day, people looked at us with interest, and
gossiped with their friends: “Who are those white people?They look just like Chrisi and Nikki, but
they cannot be them.”By day two, word
had spread, and everyone we passed came up to us ﻿﻿﻿

Greeting old acquaintances on the road

enthusiastically, asked how we
were, whether we were eating (the consensus was that Chris is very fat, so I’m
a good wife, but I’m not eating much myself), and told us how thankful they
were for our visit and how much they liked seeing us. Fortunately, despite not speaking much Bemba for four years, we are a bit rusty at speaking but still understand it we enough to carry on a conversation. Every day, too, we were improving. When we visited people at their houses, they
showered us with food, which is the Bemba way of welcoming guests.Upon our arrival, the woman of the house
would begin cooking copious amounts of a snack like roasted maize, boiled sweet
potato, or boiled groundnuts and serve it to us.Then when we left, they’d bring us a sack
full of groundnuts, pumpkin, beans or sweet potatoes to carry back with us.We stayed with Allan, and his wife cooked us
a full breakfast, lunch and dinner as well as several snacks throughout the
day.Combined with the food we received
on our visits, we were eating about every two hours for the entire week we were
there.It is culturally unacceptable to
decline food, and there are several varieties of Zambian food that we miss
since they aren’t grown in Malawi, so we finished everything.

RIP BashikuluPrince (L)

Some families had
shrunk and some families had grown in our absence.One of our neighbors, the brother of our host
father and wife of the village’s traditional midwife, tragically committed
suicide as a result of paranoia, possibly induced by local moonshine.His house no longer stands, razed to make way
for the village health outpost, and his wife and grown children have moved to
the Copperbelt.Our oldest host sister,
Doreen, now 22-years-old, is now married with a nearly two-year-old
daughter.Our host father was
disappointed that she married young, but she failed grade 8 and had no other
options and was determined.Her husband
was educated to grade 12 and teaches adult literacy classes in the
village.With the birth of his first
grandchild, our host father is now known as BashikuluMercy (grandfather of
Mercy) rather than BashiAmose (father of Amose), to denote his new status.

One of the biggest
disappointments was seeing one of our favorite little girls, Pati, now married
and pregnant at the age of only 14 or 15.Another stubborn teenager, she went to live with her boyfriend against
her parents’ wishes, and became pregnant.She now lives with him in a brick house across from his father and
mother and in front of her cousin Doreen.At least she chose well; her husband does not drink alcohol (so many
young men do), is polite and a hard worker.However, I am worried for her labor because she has growth stunting from
a childhood of malnutrition and is very young, both risk factors for obstructed
labor due to a small pelvic passage.Bemba women also prefer to have their firstborn child at home,
surrounded by loving aunts rather than skilled birth attendants.It isn’t proper to talk about pregnancy, but
we asked Allan to come with us and plead with her and her husband to go
immediately to her uncle, our host father, if she is ever “sick” so that he may
help her.Then we left money with our
host father with instructions that it should be used for transport to the
hospital and/or hospital fees when she needs it.

Pati and younger sister Silvia; then and now

With Pati and a young neighbor at the house she shares with her husband

﻿

Chanda and her niece Mercy

When we left, we had
high hopes that some specific children would be able to escape the poverty of
the village and become educated.Our
host sister Chanda, then around 15-years-old, did well on her exams and was
sent to complete grade 8 in Kasama.However, she failed her grade 9 exams, repeated the grade and took the
exams again, but still failed to pass and lost interest.Our host father believes in education and has
money to send his children to secondary school, but so far none of his three
oldest children have done well enough in school.The next sister, Maureen, as well as two
cousins, was sent to live with an aunt in the Copperbelt in the hopes that a
solid early education﻿﻿would prepare her for secondary school.When she left the village, she was in grade
four.However, upon being tested at her
new urban school, they placed her back in grade one.Another student we had high hopes for was
Kapembwa, my counterpart Ba Catherine’s firstborn son.When we left, he was attending grade 10 at
Kasama Boy’s Secondary School.He passed
grade 12, but then became involved with the headman’s granddaughter.She became pregnant, and her parents insisted
to Kapembwa’s parents that he either marry her or pay USD 250 for defiling
her.Kapembwa’s mother urged him to
continue with his schooling, but he wanted to marry her and soon afterward had a
second child with her.

Many of the elders are
still going strong.The former headman,
one of our biggest champions, has since retired and his son has taken
over.He has to be in his 80s.At Zambia’s 50 years of Independence celebrations
last year, he was awarded with a gold medal which he now proudly wears on his
suit jacket each day.As a freedom
fighter during Independence, he was imprisoned for one year by British
colonialists.He endured harsh punishments
such as a severe beating that popped his eardrum, rendering him nearly deaf.The grandmother who
lived opposite us is still as feisty as ever. Unfortunately she has cloudy

cataracts and probable glaucoma; there is
no treatment for that here so she takes ineffective painkillers and snorts
tobacco.

Among all families with
small children, we were surprised by how much they’ve grown.Our neighbor BashiMapalo and BanaMapalo are
now living in our old house after their house collapsed from heavy rains.They now have four children including a new
baby, and their baby born during our second year of service, Richie, is all grown up.

BanaMapalo and BashiMapalo and the children: (Clockwise) Mapalo (in red shirt), baby Vincent, Richie, and Juliet. In front of our old house.

Mapalo: then and now

Our friend, BanaPeggy,
has a lastborn daughter named Beauty who was another one of our favorite
children.BanaPeggy signed up to take
adult literacy classes to learn English so that she could help Beauty with her
school work, and she also promised to be able to speak to us in English when we returned again. Beauty is now in grade
5.

With BanaPeggy and Beauty: then and now. Cecilia, the older girl and another of our constant companions back in the day is now staying in Lusaka, so we were unable to see her.

Beauty and I, photo bombed by a rooster

Our neighbours
BashiMutale and BanaMutale (the parents of Pati, the pregnant teenager, and the
brother and sister-in-law of our host father) now have nine children.They are very kind, nice people, but
BashiMutale goes every morning to the station and drinks all day while his wife
and children farm.He always has, and as
a result his family is very poor.Their
children are noticeably stunted in growth.Their oldest son Mutale hung out with us a
lot and was an adult literacy student of mine.Unfortunately he is now following his father’s path and drinks heavily.One of the youngest boys, Lazaro, we always
suspected had some sort of cognitive impairment.He doesn’t attend school because he becomes
very frustrated and hits things if he doesn’t understand, and he listens fine
but doesn’t talk much.His younger
brother, Benny, with huge chubby cheeks that we called the cherub before we learned
his name, is attending primary school and looks very smart in his blue uniform.The two youngest girls, Charity and Silvia, who were a toddler
and a newborn when we left, are also growing up.They have had a new baby, a little girl named
Jacklyn, since we’ve left as well.﻿﻿

Our host father and mother (BashiAmose/BashikuluMercy and BanaAmose/BanakuluMercy) have 7 living children and a nephew who've they adopted. The oldest, Doreen, lives on the other side of the village with her husband and toddler, while the teenager children have completed their highest level of schooling and help at the family's field. The second and third youngest daughters, Muso and Malama, were about six and four-years-old when we left and could always be found at our house. They have grown rapidly like little weeds; the whole family is very tall.

BashiAmose was proud to show us his new acquisition: a Canter truck. During harvest, he drove his broken-down pickup truck back and forth between his house and field multiple times a day transporting maize, so he sprung for an upgrade.

BashiAmose and BanaAmose with their new ride.

Longtime readers of TBPLTB will remember the pre-school for orphans and vulnerable children that I worked with, writing a grant, planning and implementing a training for the teachers, and also constructing a new classroom building. Today, there is a new group of students, many of whom were only babies when we left. The students I remember are now in primary school, and according to the headmaster at the primary school, are mostly in the top of their classes. On the final day of the term for primary school, class dismissed early, and many of the pre-school graduates returned to the pre-school. There were also a few teenager girls, whom lacking anything to do, came and helped the teacher, Ba Allan, with the lessons.
﻿

Pre-school graduates and current primary school students returning to the pre-school

Another one of my large projects during Peace Corps was training community health workers, sensitizing women and men alike, and establishing a family planning supply chain, upon the request of the women in the community. Previously, the closest Catholic diocese-run health clinic refused to prescribe family planning, and women had no other access. When I left, the USAID-funded Society for Family Health was supplying us with the oral contraceptive pill. Unfortunately, funding ended for the project in Northern Province and SFH left abruptly, taking health commodities people had come to rely on, such as the SafePlan pill, Chlorin for water purification and Maximum condoms, with them. Despite this barrier, the family planning supply chain I established was still active, now sourcing the pill from SFH in Lusaka! When their supply ran out, fresh boxes were put on a bus bound for Kasama, where they were then picked up an transported to the village.
﻿﻿One of the most bizarre stories we’ve heard is an
explanation of why there are no longer any goats in the village.Apparently, one night all the goats in the
village got together (and every
family had at least a few), and decided to leave as one and go to the chief’s
palace, 12 km away.In the morning,
people found that all their goats were gone, but the sheep apparently decided
to stick around.The chief told the
people that if they wanted their goats back, they had to come to the palace and
pay a fine.Not many people were up for
the long journey and then paying a fine, so they left the goats there.Chris and I are whispering about witchcraft
as a possible explanation.

When we left, we were able to bring Wilo with us but
had to leave behind some other terrific dogs-Tiger, Chankulila, and Wilo’s
eight puppies.We prepared ourselves to
the fact that they most likely were no longer living, since dogs in the village
don’t have a long lifespan.Chankulila
(Wilo’s baby daddy) did pass away, they said he just didn’t come home one day
and they never found out what happened to him.Six of Wilo’s pups are definitely dead- one ate a poisonous grasshopper
like she did when she was young and didn’t survive and another was attacked by
a rabid fox.We lost track of one, but
last we heard she was a good guard dog for an agricultural camp officer.The remaining puppy, Bwafya, is still alive
and thriving.He’s quite a bit smaller
than Wilo and Chankulila full grown (ie, poorly nourished), and he looks
exactly like Chankulila but with Wilo’s face.He remembered us too, and ran right over a belly rub.The most heartwarming dog reunion though
happened with Tiger, who is still alive at age 7 or 8.Tiger is a very reserved dog, wary of
strangers, and Chris still bears scars from the time he was bitten by
Tiger.Imagine our surprise when after
four years, we enter our host family’s yard and Tiger comes dashing over, his
whole body wiggling in joy, emitting little howls for attention.He greeted us that way every time we came
over during our visit, and didn’t leave our sides.

Many people asked us about Wilo too (she was quite the celebrity), and were pleased to hear she was now in Malawi. Overall, our visit back to the village was overwhelmingly positive, and it was nice to be surrounded by our family on this continent again. It was hard saying goodbye again,

Several kilometers before the Malawian border town
of Mchinji, our minibus was stopped at a police checkpoint.The stern police officer clad in a brown
uniform asked to see our passports, as we were the only white people on the bus
and obvious foreigners.After examining
them, he turned his attention to our fellow passengers.He greeted each passenger in Chichewa, Muli bwanji?He listened as each passenger replied, stating that they were
fine.As he walked away to open the
blockade for our passage, a passenger mumbled that he was looking for Zambians
because they have money.The police
officer was not truly interested in each passenger’s well-being; he was just
listening to the accents and testing that everyone knew Chichewa language.It could have been a simple immigration
checkpoint, but that passenger’s comment implied that if the police officer had
found an African foreigner, only kilometers from the Malawi-Zambia border, he
could have invented a problem with that person’s passport or entry stamp and
demanded a bribe.

Zambia has changed a lot since we left in 2011.Chinese and other investment has created a
flourishing middle class.The former
late president, Michael Sata, developed infrastructure by repairing and paving
roads strategic to trade and tourism. Copper prices, a major export, have risen
again.New malls have sprung up, with
South African fast food restaurants and cinemas with the latest blockbusters
from Hollywood and Bollywood.Even in
our village, several people now own vehicles and have new iron sheets on their
roof replacing the traditional thatch.

Neighboring Malawi is one of the poorest countries
in southeastern Africa.Most Malawians
are subsistence farmers or small scale fishermen living in impoverished
villages.A small elite drive Mercedes
Benz’s around the dusty streets of Lilongwe and send their children to
universities in the UK.But there are
very few in the middle of this spectrum, because employment opportunities are
bleak.Forty percent of the economy is
comprised of foreign aid, and dependency on aid has stifled
entrepreneurship.Massive flooding in
January, which destroyed most crops in the southern region and foreshadows
tomorrow’s famine, has also hindered the economy.With no opportunity besides farming, an
uncertain venture in the best of times, thousands of Malawians have been drawn
to nearby countries, such as South Africa.

There is a woman in our village who lives with her
six children in a brick house bordering the primary school.Her youngest daughter is a student at the
pre-school our organization runs, and is six-years-old.The father of this girl left to work in a
mine in Johannesburg (South Africa) when she was just a few weeks old, and has
not seen his children since.He was
sending part of his paycheck back every month for many years, but has since
stopped and no longer answers his phone.His wife has not spoken to him for months, and feared he was dead.Then she heard through a friend, another
displaced Malawian in the rainbow nation, that he had taken a girlfriend and
planned to marry her.

Our village is full of women who rely on hard work
in their fields and a monthly check from a husband in South Africa to feed
their children.Many of these men have
not seen their children grow up.Last
week, there was a funeral for a standard 8 student, a girl being raised by her
grandmother, who succumbed to asthma.Her father is Malawian and her mother is South African, but the girl has
lived in hot and humid Malawi since she was a toddler, a climate deemed better
for her fragile lungs.She had not seen
her father in all those years, and the only event that reunited them briefly
was his arrival for her funeral.

Nearly every family in our village has a member in
South Africa.These are hard-working
people who have sacrificed family and community to chase a dream of a better
future.So when South Africans in
Johannesburg and Durban, rallying with a Zulu king who urged immigrants to
evacuate because they were stealing jobs, began fire bombing and stabbing
foreign Africans and burning down their houses and stores, Malawians were
outraged and saddened.The Malawi government
evacuated thousands of its citizens, returning them to their peaceful yet
impoverished homeland on large buses.All they had worked so hard for in South Africa had to be abandoned.

Nearby African nations have rallied against what
they view as black apartheid.Mozambique, which supplies power to parts of South Africa, has cut off
its electricity supply.Malawian
activists descended on the Parliament building and the South African Embassy in
Lilongwe to protest.Protests in the
city have a tendency to become destructive (Malawians have much to be
frustrated about), but we were in this section of the city during this time,
and saw very few signs of it.Although
we did drive down Kamuzu Procession Road following a police vehicle with
shields and officers in riot helmets, presumably en route to a post to ensure
things remained peaceful.These
activists have promised that if there is no response or retaliation for
comments made by traditional authorities that incited the attacks, they will
shut down South African-owned businesses and products in Malawi.This includes Shoprite supermarkets, Game
stores (South Africa’s version of Wal-mart), and dozens of fast food
restaurants.

There are always the stereotypes: Nigerians are
untrustworthy, the Congolese are violent, etc.While the Western world often views Africa as one entity, Africans never
forget that they are many diverse people residing in 54 distinct nations. This is apparent in South
Africa, where black South Africans have forgotten their own history as an
oppressed people upon whom tremendous violence was inflicted, and turned it on
the influx of Africans from poorer nations taking advantage of the bustling
South African economy.

Saturday, January 10, 2015

The romantic notion of Africa invokes visions of
lions stalking prey amongst dried elephant grass and towering giraffes foraging
from baobab trees.The reality however, is
that large mammals have been poached to endangerment largely during colonialism,
and are now confined primarily to national parks and game reserves.In our area, the only land predators
remaining are spotted hyenas.They come
down from the mountains at night and roam the village as people sleep, often eliciting
a telltale chorus of howls from the dogs.These nocturnal visitors leave little trace besides the occasional
slayed livestock.Last month, one of our
nearest neighbors awoke with the sunrise to find a hyena had slaughtered one of
his goats.This happened within 20 m of
our bedroom, but we did not even stir.Hyenas are feared because they are associated with dark magic and death
in Chewa folklore, but they represent little threat to humans.The exception being drunks, who after downing
too much local cornmeal beer, find themselves at the Lilongwe nature sanctuary
after dark.A few drunks who slept off
their stupor in this tranquil area of the nation’s capital have been picked off
by hyenas in recent years.

I’ve wanted a glimpse of the elusive spotted hyenas,
and have heard that they are plentiful in the woods surrounding the firing
range where the soldiers from the nearby military base train.The firing range is halfway down the 6 km
dirt road stretching from the village to the paved M14 road to Salima.Besides one small village, the entirety of
the road is surrounded by miombo woodland, making it terrific habitat for
wildlife.A few times, our co-worker has
asked us to drive and pick her up at the turn-off by the main road at night,
since the bicycle taxis that are the main mode of transport down this stretch
don’t operate past sunset.Chris and I
have turned these opportunities into what we call the “poor man’s game drive.”Chris drives slowly down the dark road in
first gear, and I point a bright flashlight out the window, scanning the trees
for animals, specifically hyenas.We’ve
seen half a dozen civet cats, and a bouncing pair of glowing eyes from a tree that
must have been a bush baby (the world’s most adorable nocturnal primate), but
no hyenas.

Over Christmas, we decided to upgrade from the poor
man’s game drive and traveled to Liwonde National Park in southern Malawi with
two co-workers.While living in Zambia
we had the good fortune of being able to visit three national parks, but this
was our first safari with our own vehicle.

A fish eagle, Malawi's national bird

On Christmas day, after arriving at the lodge and
setting up our tents, we took an afternoon boat ride on the Shire River.On the 40 km stretch of the Shire River which
runs through the park, there are over 2,000 hippos.Much of the ride was spent traveling through
schools of submerged hippos lazing in the river.As the daylight faded, they began trudging
onto land to graze.We also passed
crocodiles lurking near the shores, and in the far distance, a herd of
elephants.Liwonde, and Malawi as a
whole, is a mecca for birdwatchers, and we also saw magnificent fish eagles
soaring through the skies, various hornbills, kingfishers, and other wading
birds.

The next day, we awoke early to arrive at the park
gates as they opened at 6am.Unfortunately, we learned that the rains had washed away a bridge
within, making much of the 50 km long park inaccessible.The woman soldier at the gate, correctly
appraising Chris as someone who liked to push the limits, warned him

repeatedly
to turn around before the bridge to avoid getting stuck in the mud, since no
one would come to our rescue.That left
us with an area with a 10 km radius to explore.The backdrop of the park itself is gorgeous, with tall palm trees lining
the river, expansive flood plains of burnt grasses fading into miombo forest,
all bordered by blue mountains.We saw
all kinds of antelope:large greater
kudus with oversized ears, delicate tan impala with huge hooked antlers, and
shaggy waterbucks.We crept the car
slowly towards them for pictures, but sudden movements made them flee.We also saw warthogs, ancient-looking
creatures which are built so awkwardly that they have to kneel with their front
legs to graze.At one point we passed a
family, which startled and ran away with their bristly tails held straight in
the air.

After driving around for a couple of hours, we
returned to the lodge to cook breakfast: pancakes cooked over the fire and
drizzled with precious Vermont maple syrup.We returned for another game drive in the late afternoon.This time, Chris wanted to drive closer to the
river on the smaller trails, like he’d seen a guide in a safari 4x4 do earlier
that day.This area was covered in deep
mud, unlike the main road.Much of the
ride was spent careening around in the mud and sliding, narrowly avoiding
trees.It was a lot of fun, but I’d have
enjoyed it more if it wasn’t in the company vehicle that I was responsible for.The highlight of this drive was turning a
corner and seeing a solitary, younger elephant standing by the road, playing in
a large mud puddle.

Hornbill (think Zazu from The Lion King)

Lilac breasted rollers

Impala

A common waterbuck

A herd of greater kudu and a baboon

Another excursion this month was to Cape Maclear,
which is situated almost on the far southern end of the 365 km long Lake
Malawi.One of the only accessible parts
of the lake to face northwest, it offers protection from the winds and
spectacular sunsets.Cape Maclear is a
quintessential Malawian fishing village melded with lodges catering to European
backpackers, and it has a laid-back, spirited atmosphere.Like many notable areas in this region, it
was visited and named by the Scottish explorer and missionary David
Livingstone, who named it after the Astronomer Royal at the Cape of Good Hope,
Thomas Maclear.Livingstone had such an
appreciation for its beauty that it was chosen as the original site of his
mission.

Our organization has a partnership with a tour
operator that had just opened a new lodge on the western end of Cape, so we
were invited to a weekend of complimentary meals, lodging and water sports to
celebrate its launch.In addition to
mingling with other expatriates working in Malawi and enjoying a new side of
the lake, we also were able to go snorkeling and banana boating.We went out in the speedboat to a small,
rocky island and snorkeled among the vibrant, neon-colored cichlids that Lake
Malawi is known for.It was like floating
in a giant tropical fish tank.Later
that day, we piled on an inflatable, banana-shaped raft pulled by the
speedboat.It was pretty unstable and we
bounced high in the waves left in the boat’s wake, so we fell off often.But riding on it at high speeds with the wind
on our faces and spray from the lake kicking up, half expecting that every
turbulent patch would cause us to tumble into the water, was exhilarating.

Malawi is only the size of the state of
Pennsylvania, and nearly one quarter of the country is freshwater lake, but
there is tremendous geographical diversity.An hour south of Liwonde National Park lies the breathtaking Zomba
Plateau.Zomba was Malawi’s colonial
capital, and was claimed to be the most stunning, picturesque capital anywhere
in the British Empire.Rising to an
elevation of 6,836 feet, the plate

au is covered in potato fields at its lower
elevations and a pine tree plantation at its tips.A steep, zigzagging road traversed by
merchants selling fruit to tourists and women carrying bundles of wood on their
heads to sell in town winds up to the Sunbird Kuchawe inn, Malawi’s
government-owned luxury hotel chain, perched on the precipice.From the top of the plateau, you can look
upon the town of Zomba far below, looking like a child’s carelessly placed set
of matchbox cars and other tin toys, and mountains in varying shades of blue
stretching across the horizon.The Shire
River meanders through like a blue ribbon across the sandy ground, and from the
opposite direction, you can view Lake Chilwa.

High on the plateau, options for accommodation are
limited. The Sunbird Kuchawe’s prices
match its opulent atmosphere, so we settled for camping at a former trout farm
that has seen better days.Our travel
companions until this part of the journey refused to camp with us, insinuating
that the farm was sketchy and looked like the set of a bad slasher movie.Their loss, since its location set amidst the
forest was really rather peaceful.

The lodges advocate hiring guides to lead tourists
around the plateau, but we had a Bradt’s guide to Malawi with a crude map of
the plateau, directions pirated off another traveler’s blog, and an optimistic
outlook on our sense of direction, so the four of us set off on a hike to find
Emperor’s and Queen’s view.Amidst the
rows of pine trees stretching off into the distance, the setting was not unlike
the Adirondacks.We enjoyed the
tranquility of being completely alone except for each other.At some point, we must have made a wrong
turn, but upon reaching the top of the road, we had a spectacular view of other
mountains in the distance.

After a brief
rest, we set off again, and that’s when we became utterly lost.In an attempt to gain our bearings, we took
roads heading in the vague direction of where we thought we should be, though
much of the plateau’s landmarks look the same.At this point, it was 3pm and storm clouds were moving in rapidly and
ushering in a premature sunset, and we’d been walking since 11am.With a new sense of urgency, we began
following a road with fresh tire tracks, surmising that tire tracks meant
civilization.Just as we began to lose
hope, a grey 4x4 appeared on the horizon.After flagging down the vehicle, the driver stopped, and asked us for
directions to the outlooks in an Afrikaans accent.The two white South African brothers inside
were also lost, but having a hell of a time doing it skidding through deep mud
in their boss’s SUV, sipping gin from glasses, and chain smoking.Hopping into the backseat, we continued on
and found a sign for Queen’s View- named for Queen Elizabeth who visited in the 1950s.After
taking some pictures, we continued on to the dam, where the younger brother
splashed around in the frigid water and we stood around like parents
supervising a child’s first swim, instructing him to try different poses as his
brother snapped photos on his iphone.After thanking the brothers for sparing us a cold night on the plateau,
we headed back to our campsite.

The next day, Chris and I were alone, and we decided
to hike to Chingwe’s hole, on the opposite side of the plateau.In a second moment of grossly overestimating our
abilities, we projected the trip to be about 3 miles one way, or one hour there
and one back.This side of the plateau
had a landscape more reminiscent of New Zealand, with green plains, moss-draped
trees, and small rivers cascading over the earthen path.This hike was also completely vertical, and
brought us up through the pine plantations, past temporary grass

shelters
covered with black plastic where families lived while they harvested pine which
they would later carry down the mountain to sell in Zomba town.The mountain rang with the sound of pit saws
as pine was cut into planks.We did not
see any trace of a larger scale logging operation; instead it seemed to be
contracted to small groups of people living in villages on the plateau.We continued ascending, past the woodsmen,
and finally came to a meadow.Though the
view was lovely, we’d been walking for over two hours on legs sore from the
previous day’s adventures.But a sign
promised us that Chingwe’s hole was only one kilometer away.It must have been the longest kilometer of my
life, since it took us another hour from there to reach the place.Meanwhile, dark clouds approached ominously,
heralded by high winds and distant lightening flashing across the sky.We were on the highest part of the plateau in
an open meadow, so being sensible and safety-minded, we doggedly continued
towards Chingwe’s Hole rather than seeking shelter.Finally, we arrived at a rather inauspicious
small circle of trees huddling together near the edge of a cliff.

Fog was rolling in, making it impossible to
see what the circle of trees concealed.Since the storm was imminent and there was no shelter anywhere, we
huddled on a wooden bench that faced what was probably a magnificent view any
other time, but now was only the opaque white of endless fog.The wind blew ferociously, and we expected to
be drenched with rain anytime, but it never came.With awe, we realized that we were above the storm clouds.While we were safely enveloped in a blanket
of fog, beneath us, the rain pelted in sheets.All our The

rain beneath us was fierce but quick, and
the fog dissipated.The view in front of
us was still only white when we looked down at the map, but when we glanced
back up, it was like someone had thrown open the curtain.Within a minute, the fog had vanished
completely, revealing a view of the southern region’s raw beauty. Our tiredness melted away with that distant rain, and we were left with
a feeling of invincibility and immortality there in the heavens.

The retreating fog also left us with an unobstructed
view of Chingwe’s hole, hidden in that little unassuming copse of trees.Despite the tranquil setting, Chingwe’s hole
has a mysterious, deadly past.Locally,
it is said to be a bottomless pit stretching into the Rift Valley.While it undoubtedly has a bottom, that abyss
is littered with layers of bones.In the
past, it was offered sacrifices in times of drought.They also used to throw people afflicted with
leprosy into the hole, which is how it earned its name.One day they visited the hole and found the
unfortunate soul tossed in the previous day to be still alive.In a weak voice that echoed throughout the 8m
wide hole, he asked for a rope, chingwe
in ChiChewa, to be thrown down.His
request was ignored, and he eventually died of injuries or dehydration.Later, local chiefs used the hole to forever
dispose of their enemies.It is rumored
that former dictator Hastings Banda (1964-1994) also used the hole for this
purpose.Under his reign, over 250,000
Malawians were detained without trial and tortured, and his dissenters had a
tendency to die under mysterious circumstances such as car crashes, explosive blasts,
or as victims of crocodiles on the Shire River.

Like the nocturnal hyenas that skulk around the
village, much of our trip was shrouded in mystery.Safari is always a gamble, since there are no
guarantees you’ll see animals, and it’s harder in the rainy season when the
herds move further.Zomba Plateau is
beautiful, but holds many secrets and no clear paths back home.We left the village without a clear plan or
itinerary, intent on uncovering more about Malawi.While we did so, we’ve really only scratched
the surface.This is a diverse,
beautiful country, and like searching for the elusive hyenas by flashlight, I
can’t wait to have more adventures in the quest for knowledge.